This awesome freshman kid loves great games like Ocarina of Time and the various Zelda games, and cool anime games. We talk all the time about random stuff and crack jokes about silly stuff. He is the coolest guy I know. He even knows of 4chan and I told him it was the sphincter of the Internet. He drew this picture one day for me, and he said he works at a fast food restaurant, so I decided to dedicate a story or a hundred to it, so here goes.

"HAROLD! HAROOOLLDD! WHERE ARE YOU!" screamed a pudgy short manager, wearing a dress shirt, tie, and slacks. His face was tomato red, and he was obviously not a happy camper.

Harold was sitting in an eating booth. He was stretched out, his arm hanging over the
headrest non-chalantly. His large straw hat shadowed his face, and he was meditating and contemplating how he had arrived here, in America, and why he is serving greasy, overpriced, frozen at first foods that explode like hot fire on the way out. He heard the yelling, and groaned. "I am coming, sir!" he said, unhappy, but smiling and replying with a plastic polite and diligent tone.

The manager's arms were at his sides, and he was poised in a stiff stance of fury. Harold's fake smile wiped off his face when he saw his enraged manager. "SOME FAT KID PUKED IN THE BATHROOM. MOP UP THAT MESS NOOOW!!" the manager yelled, so loud, that Harold's straw hat blew off in his flurry of words, and he was even drenched in the manager's spit.

"This occupation is most unsatisfying! How did I ever end up in the belly of the beast?" Harold implored loudly to his various Japanese samurai gods. There was no reply. Harold hung his head low in disappointment, and started swishing the mop on the barf (he was almost convinced it was radioactive waste). When he lifted up his mop to drain the disgusting water, he saw it - a shiny $50 dollar bill.

Harold's face lit up with excitement and he let out a courageous belly laugh. "Fifty American monies? That is as much as six hundred yen! I must have you. Are you prepared to fight a most honorable battle, Dollar-Chan?" All was silent. In Harold's head, the dollar bowed. Harold bowed deeply, showing respect and the utmost of courtesy. He then sat down Indian style to stare the dollar down.

Two rowdy and rude teenage customers barged into the bathroom by kicking the wooden door open. Harold was so deep in samurainess that he did not flinch or even acknowledge they were there. They thought that an Asian dude in silly clothing was hilarious, and to take advantage of the moment, they took funny pictures with him. After they embarrassed him by writing on his face with sharpies, one of them spoke up. "Dude, this is lame. Let's tip him over!"

His companion nodded fiercely. "Yes, let's!" The two pimply teenagers shoved Harold with all their might, but he was as stiff as a bolder. They tried to tickle him with a feather to catch him off guard. They played out several emergency scenarios to instill fear into his heart. Still, he did not stir. This is the magnitude of Harold's samurai skill. He is still and quiet, like an old hill, yet he knows all, deep in the sacred Japanese rituals of pride, honor, and valiance.

The two boys were becoming aggravated at their failure. "Hey, what do you know, he looks like one of those anime dudes." Said the leader, rubbing his chin and studying Harold, as if he were a wild animal in it's natural habitat.

"Uh.. oh yeah. You mean like Naruto? So?" inquired his big, slow, friend, scratching his head. "I don't get it."

The leader, a skinny, pimpled, white belt wearing emo poser, grabbed his companion by his shirt collar and pulled him close. "If we want to conquer the anime dude, we have to think like an anime dude. Uncover his weakness." They both sat there for a while, thinking back to their favorite anime shows that sucked but kids enjoy for some reason.

"Oooh ooh oooh! I know, pick me, pick meeee!" shouted the large one, giddily, raising his hand in anticipation. He stuck it high up in the air, and waved it around like a wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube man in a tornado.

The teacher, aka, his friend, the leader, looked around the room. "Hmmm.. who will I call on.." he said, teasing his buddy. He grinned, and said, "Ok, Edward, what is his weakness?"

Edward folded his hands on his desk, smiled politely, and blurted out, "A SECRET AND CONFUSING PAST HE DOESN'T REMEMBER!!, MR. BRADLEY SIR!!!"

Bradley clapped and marveled at the correct answer. "I never knew you as the anime type." He said smugly. Yes, so let's ask him questions about his personal life before he ended up here and it will awake him. Then we go in for the kill!"

"Whaaat??!" said Edward, stunned. "I thought we were just pushing the poor guy! I don't want to go to jail for anime assassination!"

"Hey, chill bro." said Bradley, leaning up against the grimy bathroom wall that Harold should have been cleaning and would have been spotless if he was not having a showdown with a green slip of paper.

"One, two, THREEE!!" the two punks exclaimed in unison. A whirlwind of questions and pleas to hear his twisted and black and white flash back stories flung like sharp daggers out of their mouths. Harold instantly fell over, shocked, his mouth agape, sideways in the hot vomit. Harold sat back up, a furious stress mark showing on his face.

He wielded his broom like a blade and span it around him at a speed faster than any man could run. He opened his mouth and screamed, "FIFTY AMERICAN DOLLAR BILL? YOU WERE THE ONE WHO SENT THIS DEMON MINIONS TO DEFEAT ME! I WILL NOT CRUMBLE SO EASILY! YOU HAVE DISHONORED MY SAMURAI WAYS AND FAMILY AND JOB AND HOMELAND AND ETHNIC BACKGROUND! PREPARE TO BE DECAPITATED!!"

Here's the drawing. Bad to the ass.